Failure to Mention
by foreverabean
Summary: Kurt and Blaine have the house to themselves. Cooper neglected to knock.


**A/N: wrote this little gem around 3 months ago. it's probably been done before. I amuse myself more than anything, to be honest. uploading for a friend to see~**

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"Remember how I told you my mother had that luncheon to go to tomorrow afternoon?" Blaine says offhandly, voice adopting that playful lilt Kurt knows to associate with an end result of heavy breath and tangled limbs. Blaine takes a small sip of his coffee and Kurt eyes him across the table, quirking an eyebrow.

"I do."

"Well, it may have turned into a dinner party that includes my father." Blaine says, his face the picture of innocence, but Kurt sees the mischievous glint in his boyfriend's eye and nudges Blaine's shin under the table.

"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the house you'll have to yourself for the first time in weeks, would it?" Kurt asks airily.

"Of course not." Blaine exclaims, feigning shock and practically radiating smugness over the top of his coffee.

Of course, it was something to be rather smug about. Ever since the opening night of West Side Story, both Blaine's parents and Burt had seemed to gain a sixth sense – Kurt liked to refer to it as a "sex-sense" – that led them infallibly to the closed door behind which Kurt would be muffling his moans in Blaine's shoulder and Blaine would be sucking at the line of Kurt's neck that he knew would make his boyfriend fall apart. It was absolutely maddening. For the first few weeks, they'd resigned themselves to brief, messy makeouts in the backseat of Kurt's Navigator or the corner of some abandoned classroom; a groping hand here, a quickly stifled gasp there. But there was no way either one of them could stand keeping their pants buttoned for longer than that, so they got clever. After Burt knocked on Kurt's bedroom door for the fourth time that week, demanding to know why a bright pink bowtie that Kurt would wear only if it were being used to strangled him to death was lying casually on the staircase, Kurt and Blaine had snuck in their alone time in the boy's bathroom of the Lima Bean, a janitor's closet during passing period at McKinley, and the darkest corner of Blaine's basement. That last event had led to angry mutterings from Blaine's mother and Kurt's one week banishment from Blaine's house, and even so, Kurt thanked whatever God someone else believed in that Mr. Anderson hadn't been the one to hear their scarcely muffled moans.

So, yes, Blaine has a great deal of reason to be smug about the empty house.

"What's the plan then, Mr. Anderson?" Kurt asks coyly, raising his eyebrows at Blaine. Blaine's face splits into a huge grin and he actually _wriggles _in his seat, emanating happy excitement. Kurt is often taken aback by how goddamn _charming _his boyfriend is; Blaine, with his tender eyes and the special smile he saves just for Kurt, the smile that lights his face and sets off a burning glow deep inside Kurt's chest. It's the smile he's giving Kurt now, and Kurt can't help but smile back. That smile is his kryptonite, breaking down anger or heartache no matter the situation.

"Come over at six?" Blaine suggests. Kurt grins and nods, reaching across the table to squeeze Blaine's hand.

"I'll be there."

At 5:58 the next day Kurt is knocking on Blaine's front door, shifting from foot to foot and giving himself a quick once-over in the glass window to his right. Kurt knows that he shouldn't be nervous – this is _Blaine, _and Blaine's seen Kurt fall apart over his fist in a janitor's closet, so Kurt's unsure why someone's let a flock of butterflies loose in his stomach.

The door swings open and there's Blaine, wearing a white v-neck and dark, tight-fitting denim jeans and that _smile_ that Kurt's pretty sure he could see from outer space.

"Hey!" he says, so happily that Kurt wonders if Blaine is always this genuinely pleased to see him or if Blaine's as talented an actor as he is a performer.

Blaine pulls Kurt into a tight hug, arms locking around Kurt's waist, strong and safe and Kurt feels _home. _And just like that, the butterflies are gone, because it's Blaine and Blaine loves Kurt and they're natural, easy; Blaine is Kurt's best friend as well as boyfriend, and loving him is easier than falling into a childhood bed. Blaine is a habit Kurt is never going to want to break.

"You look great!" Blaine says breathlessly as he releases Kurt, and Kurt feels almost silly now, because these clothes are going to end up on the floor one way or another, so the real question is, why did he show up wearing anything at all?

Kurt's thank you is his lips on Blaine's before Blaine can react, but then Blaine's sliding his hands around Kurt's waist and breathing Kurt closer before fumbling with the buttons of Kurt's jacket.

"Clothes off?" Kurt mumbles against Blaine's lips, and pulls Blaine's shirt away from his waist, sliding his slender hands up Blaine's chest.

"Clothes off," Blaine confirms breathlessly, finally finishing off the buttons and yanking the fabric off Kurt's shoulders, only to whine in disapproval as he's met with another layer.

"Sorry," Kurt laughs breathlessly, urging Blaine back until the backs of Blaine's knees connect with the arm of the leather couch in front of the television.

"I hate the layers," Blaine says petulantly, pulling Kurt's toffee-colored Henley over Kurt's head with a little more force than necessary. Kurt kisses a line down Blaine's neck, murmuring into his skin.

"They make it more fun."

And Kurt may have made the conscious decision once or twice (or three times, or four) to strategically layer his diverse clothing just to see Blaine's reaction when, instead of skin, his eager hands uncovered more buttons to yank open, more zippers to rip downwards, upwards, and more often than not, to Blaine's dismay, diagonally.

Kurt doesn't toy with Blaine, _per se, _and he always makes up for it in sexual favors one way or another, but he won't lie and say Blaine's clumsy fingered frustration isn't adorable and, honestly, quite flattering.

"I love your clothes, but I love your skin more," Blaine huffs into the space behind Kurt's ear, pressing a biting kiss that punches a soft gasp out of Kurt. His fingers jump up to twine through Blaine's – thankfully ungelled – hair.

"Let's get to skin, then." Kurt prompts, sliding Blaine's shirt up to his chest and pressing an almost chaste kiss to the skin above Blaine's bellybutton. Blaine shivers and mumbles nonsense into the air as Kurt lowers smoothly to his knees right where he is, working the button of Blaine's jeans and mouthing over the expanse of Blaine's taut stomach, the dark trail of hair leading below Blaine's waistband, the ridge of his hips. Blaine moans low in the back of his throat as Kurt kisses downward at the same pace he's tugging on Blaine's jeans and briefs and Kurt doesn't care that they're about to get sweaty and messy and undone right here in Blaine's living room with the primly posed family portraits watching, because Kurt _lives _for these moments; when Blaine is gasping Kurt's name and neither of them know anything but the other boy's body and touch and skin. When they breathe in the same breath, moan through the same vibration on each-others' lips – it's those moments that keep Kurt up at night, tracing his fingertips over his own skin, keeping the memories alive and real for as long as he can.

Blaine's knees knock together and he leans heavily against the cough, knotting his fingers through Kurt's hair, and Kurt will worry about fixing the strands that droop into his face later. Now he's sliding his hands up the backs of Blaine's bare thighs, ears wired to the soft, keening noises Blaine's biting back as Kurt lets his breath tickle teasingly over Blaine's sensitive skin.

"Kurt, please –" Blaine stutters, already babbling, and Kurt shifts on his knees, loving that he can do this to Blaine, turn him to jelly at the slightest touch, and Kurt feels his already skintight jeans pull a little tighter. Kurt presses a light kiss to the inside of Blaine's thigh before taking Blaine into his mouth and almost grinning in triumph as Blaine lets out a blistering moan and his hips twist up. It's never really been a competition, seeing who could make the other fall apart first, but Kurt likes to keep a tally in his head nonetheless. Right now it's looking like Kurt: 1, Blaine: 0, though Blaine can do some things with his hands that'll probably bump his score up to the low hundreds.

Kurt pushes Blaine back, holding him securely against the couch and sinks down further, finding a familiar rhythm, now very, very aware of the throbbing bulge in the front of his jeans as Blaine moans again, long and loud, letting his head fall back as he sags against the arm of the couch.

Kurt's just started to move the way he knows will pull Blaine apart at the seams – not for the first time tonight, if he's got any say in the matter – when the sudden sound of the front door opening breaks through Blaine's increasingly desperate moans.

"Hey Blaine, thought I'd surprise you with a little takeout since I knew Mom and Dad would be out – oh. _Oh._"

They both freeze, Kurt's mouth still entirely wrapped around Blaine, and Blaine's eyes blow wide before he positively _shrieks, _trying to jerk back from Kurt. His frantic movement destroys any semblance of sexy they might have been holding onto and Kurt chokes – wouldn't that be a great story to tell if they had to call 911? _Yes, what is the emergency? I'm asphyxiating on my boyfriend's cock, please hurry _– coughing and spluttering as Blaine almost topples naked over the side of the couch, screaming, "_COOPER!" _

Kurt can't believe he's actually turning to see the man who just witnessed him on his knees with Blaine's cock down his throat, but he is, eyes streaming, clinging to the arm of the couch to keep him upright.

Cooper Anderson is frozen in the doorway, eyes huge and his hands full of Chinese takeout.

"Oh my fucking god," Kurt whispers, feeling his face burst into an open flame, and Blaine's just spluttering out a mixture of curses and pure nonsense, yanking his briefs up to his hips. Kurt has met Blaine's elder brother a total of three times now; once over Skype where Cooper had congratulated Blaine on scoring Kurt, once at the Lima Bean, where Cooper had grilled them on the nature of their sex life (pre-West Side Story at the time), much to Blaine's immense horror and Kurt's shocked amusement, and right now the in the middle of the Anderson's pristine living room, while Kurt is half-naked and still hard. Kurt actually really likes Cooper, and they'd spent the better part of their second meeting snickering in cohorts while Blaine looked on, aghast, but right now Kurt's actually contemplating smothering Cooper with the nearest couch cushion just to make sure Cooper will never be able to speak of this again.

"Well," Cooper comments, almost calmly, blinking a couple times before slapping his hand over his eyes, but it's too little, too late. Cooper has just witnessed his little brother and his boyfriend in one of the more compromising positions Kurt can imagine, and yep, Kurt's sure his flaming face has ignited his roots.

"My, my," Cooper chuckles, peeking through his fingers, blue eyes bright with amusement, and Kurt wonders if it's possible to keel over and die from extreme mortification.

"GET OUT!" Blaine shrieks, seizing the pillow Kurt was contemplating as a murder weapon and hurling it at Cooper's face.

"Hey now!" Cooper has the sense to unlock his limbs and stagger into the kitchen as Blaine sends another pillow soaring at his head. And then Kurt can't help it, he's laughing so hard he can't breathe. He rocks back and forth on his aching knees and wheezes in what he's sure is an utterly unattractive fashion, pressing his hand to his mouth in an attempt to smother his hysteria.

"I'm going to kill him," Blaine says blankly, hoisting up his jeans. He looks so shocked, hair in curly disarray from Kurt's fingers, eyes still dark with lust, glazed with the confusion of coming down so hard and fast, and Kurt's positively _howling _now, pressing his face into Blaine's legs. Blaine grumbles, but a reluctant snort breaks through his irritation and he runs a hand through his hair, shouting, "Is nowhere safe?" in Cooper's general direction.

Kurt chokes back his laughter, getting gingerly to his feet with a groan of relief.

"Did that actually just happen?" he asks breathlessly, poking around on the floor for his shirt.

"I wish I could say no," Blaine says, still looking absolutely appalled. "He's not even supposed to be here – that's what the HOTEL ROOM IS FOR!" he adds in a deliberate shout.

Kurt shushes him as they redress, still shaking with fits of giggles. Blaine sighs, taking Kurt's hands and looking apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt, this was supposed to be time for us –" Kurt shakes his head almost immediately, silencing Blaine with a soft kiss. Right now the score's looking to be about Cooper: 1, Kurt and Blaine: 0, but Kurt's not about to let that stand.

"It still can be," he whispers, smiling and squeezing Blaine's hand. He leans in the direction of the kitchen and calls, "Hey, Cooper!"

Cooper sidles out a moment later, looking sheepish even with his mouth bulging with lo mein noodles.

"I don't know how loud that TV can go," Kurt says airily, "but I suggest you test it out. Blaine and I will be upstairs, and there will be no need to check on us, or touch the phone, or honestly, do anything other than focus intently on whatever you decide to watch."

Both Andersons stare blankly at Kurt for a moment before Cooper swallows and his entire face splits in a huge grin. He salutes, eyes twinkling with amused admiration, and makes a show of rolling over the back of the couch to settle there with his greasy takeout box. Kurt smiles pleasantly at him and takes Blaine's hand, leading him towards the staircase, and Blaine trails after him, adoration glowing so bright in his eyes that Kurt's certain NASA can see it from space.

They reach Blaine's room and Blaine kicks the door closed, pulling Kurt into a searing kiss. It's not the empty house they'd planned on, but they'll take it nonetheless.

"I love you," Blaine whispers, pushing Kurt back onto the bed and sliding between Kurt's knees, face scrunched with a dopey smile. Kurt smiles back and hooks his leg around Blaine's hip, hands already yanking at Blaine's rumpled shirt, their lips crushing together as if they'd never been interrupted. They're both shirtless and gasping, hickeys sucked into skin before they both startle at the loud voice that echoes over the blast of the television and up the stairs.

"Oh yeah, do you guys want me to save you some takeout?"

Kurt almost regrets not taking action with that pillow.


End file.
